Democracy, Disinformation, and the Fight for Our Future

A few weeks ago, as the world marked World Environment Day in Ottawa, David Suzuki said this: “My grandchildren face extinction.”

In four words, he named what many of us feel but often struggle to say aloud. We are not in a slow crisis. We are in a sprint to collapse. And for any that think of climate change as an abstract problem, Suzuki made sure we understand that this is about the futures of the people we love.

But he didn’t stop there. “I don’t know how we move forward when we can’t agree on facts,” he added, pointing to another less-visible crisis. The internet, once imagined to be a great equalizer, has become a battleground of misinformation and manipulation. Our public discourse is shaped by platforms that don’t prioritize truth or justice. Instead, they often drive “clicks & views” by outrage, fear, and division. The result is a kind of epistemic breakdown: a world where the most urgent problems become impossible to solve because we can’t even agree they’re real.

That’s where we are, but it’s not where we have to end. What if the answer to this fractured, polarized moment isn’t to try to pick a single issue, or a single truth, but to recognize that everything is connected?

What if we stop asking which crisis to prioritize (climate, housing, poverty, polarization) and start seeing them as part of the same story?

I’ve spent much of my life moving between different sectors - science, peacebuilding, civil society, public leadership - and the through line has always been a commitment to seeing the whole system. When I worked in optics and imaging, I was trained to spot distortions in how we see the world. Now, in a very different context, I find myself trying to do the same in public life. Too often, we treat problems as isolated when they’re deeply entangled.

The climate crisis doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It is inextricably linked to the cost of living, to growing homelessness, to deepening inequality and social fragmentation. The same extractive systems that pollute our atmosphere also erode our communities. The same economic models that treat people as disposable are the ones torching the planet. When wildfires destroy homes, when floods wipe out crops, when storms shut down cities, it’s always the poorest and most vulnerable who are hit first and hardest.

I see this firsthand in my community, where people working multiple jobs can’t afford rent, where shelters overflow, and where the frontline servants trying to hold things together, be they social workers, faith leaders, or volunteers, are stretched to the brink. And yet, despite the hardship, there is deep resilience. Mutual aid groups spring up. Community kitchens feed hundreds. People show up for one another. These efforts don’t always get headlines, but they are climate work. They are doing democratic work. They are survival work.

Every action, every solution, has ripple effects. A guaranteed livable income isn’t just an anti-poverty measure. It’s a climate resilience strategy. Affordable, energy-efficient housing isn’t just about dignity. It’s a win for emissions reduction. Community gardens, walkable neighbourhoods, clean transit, Indigenous land stewardship… these are all threads in the same tapestry. When we invest in people and communities, we’re also investing in the planet’s ability to heal.

Even our efforts to push back against misinformation are climate efforts, because the truth is a precondition for action. And the people building trust in community spaces, creating shared understanding, and holding space for hard conversations? They’re doing the deep work of adaptation and survival.

But there’s something else that needs to change—something upstream of policy, deeper than any single issue: Democracy itself.

How can we expect to navigate the interconnected crises of our time when our political systems reward division, sideline consensus, and distort public will? Canada’s first-past-the-post electoral system is a clear example. It consistently hands power to parties that a majority of voters didn’t choose, while shutting out voices that speak urgently about climate, housing, justice, and Reconciliation. It encourages short-term thinking, polarization, and strategic voting over vision, collaboration, and courage.

I’ve been a candidate in that system. I’ve experienced the frustration of watching meaningful, community-driven conversations about the future be reduced to partisan talking points or ignored altogether. I’ve knocked on thousands of doors, and I can tell you: people care. They’re ready to engage and ready to hope, but the system doesn’t make enough space for that kind of politics.

We need a democratic system that reflects the actual diversity of our voices and values. A system ne that makes room for bold action, not just status quo management. Democracy, like the climate, is not something we can take for granted. It must be tended, protected, and reimagined to serve us in the world we now inhabit.

That’s what gives me hope.

Not some superficial optimism that things will work out on their own but the real, lived understanding that when we care for one another, we are also caring for the Earth. And that no effort is wasted. Every meal shared, every policy fought for, every neighbour welcomed… These are small rebellions against the systems that would have us believe we’re alone.

I’m also a parent. When I think about what it means to live through this moment, I think about my children’s eyes on me, asking: What did you do when it mattered?

We don’t need everyone to agree on every fact, or every solution. What we need is a shared commitment to act with courage, with compassion, and with clarity about what is at stake. David Suzuki is right. The future hangs in the balance. But if we recognize the web that connects us… If we can see each other not as opponents, but as co-authors of what comes next, then maybe, just maybe, we still have time.